


The Whole Box of Crayons

by starespressos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Aquariums, Aquatic Life Castiel, Artist Dean, Colors, Looking for love, M/M, Pining, Quests, Sharing a Bed, Soulmates, Soulmates Castiel & Dean Winchester, Stargazing, sculptor Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 17:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12086277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starespressos/pseuds/starespressos
Summary: In a world where you get colors when you first touch your soulmate, Dean has always had them. These people, labeled blatantly as Failed, usually get into arts but are frowned upon by the society. When a new person enters Dean’s life, he finds out it’s possible he’s already met his soulmate as a baby. Now it’s time to meet the five people that were born at the same time period and see if the shoe fits.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank yous to my lovely betas [milli](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books)  
> and [Saga](http://www.instagram.com/rakas.saga) (ILY!!!!) and also  
> [this](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Deancebra/pseuds/Deancebra) lovely person as well for valuing my nonsense ideas. 
> 
> A thank for the people in Tropefest chat that listened to all my sentences that started with "So I've got a question". Love you all!
> 
> Finally, the amazing art for this piece is made by the lovely [nonexistenz](http://nonexistenz.tumblr.com). Please go show them some love!

 

 

She would have done _anything_ to not have to tell his son the news.

Mary Winchester was a reasonable mother. She didn't have unrealistic expectations when it came to his two sons – she was content with whatever they wanted to do with their lives. It was up to them to figure out what professional journeys they'd want to embark on, and whether they'd bring home a boy or a girl or something in between. All she wanted for her sons was for them to be happy.

In a sense, it was lovely that Dean had been gifted the ability to see colors. He had always been interested in fine arts; ever since he was a toddler, he'd calmed down observing Renaissance pieces at the Spencer Museum of Art over at Lawrence, Kansas. It'd been easy to end any tantrum by driving the short route from their hometown to the museum, it'd almost felt like cheating. Dean had shown interest towards pursuing a career in arts as well, and Mary had never been more proud.

If only it was that simple. Instead, seeing color from birth came with a horrible price nobody should have to pay. And now that doctors had confirmed Dean's status, Mary had no other choice but to sit down next to her son on the breakfast table, stroke his hair gently and clear her throat before finally starting a conversation with her 6-year-old. It was a conversation no mother should ever have to have with her child.

”Dean, honey?”

She watched his son finish up his Lucky Charms before saying another word. The gloves that she had made him wear for all his life seemed almost mocking now and as Dean put down his bowl and adjusted them, she wanted to take them off already. After a moment of silence, Dean's eyes wandered down to the envelope still in Mary's hands.

”Is that from the doctor?”

”Yes,” she nodded, trying to keep her voice calm, ”this is from Dr. Matthews.”

”Did I pass the test?”

”With flying colors,” she said, chuckling solemnly at the irony, ”with a perfect score, no less. You see colors better than most at your age.”

A smile, wide enough to be mistaken for the sun, spread across the freckled face of her son.

”I can go to art school, right?”

”It’s called a STEAM school, love,” she said, ruffling his hair again, ”it’s got plenty of things besides arts and mostly it has to do with utilizing your talent in other studies. But yes, you can go there. We can get you signed up there immediately, if you wish, or you can start your school with the kids from the kindergarten first. We’ll do whatever suits you best. You're looking for a bright future with art, if you stay diligent and concentrate.”

Dean was beaming. Mary didn’t let herself get distracted.

“There's something else I want you to know of, though.”

Dean frowned. ”What is it, mom?”

”I don't want any harm to come in the way of your happiness, you know that, right, sweetie? What I'm about to tell you now might hurt a little at first, but I want you to stay focused on your dreams. You understand that?”

Dean nodded and started to wiggle in his chair. The sugar in his Lucky Charms would keep him hyperactive for a while.

”You know how I told you that the whole world changed when I met your father, right?”

”Yeah.”

”And you know it had to do with colors, right?”

Dean nodded again. It wouldn't take long for him to get bored of this conversation.

”I’ve told you about soulmates and by now it’s been covered in kindergarten, too.”

”Yes, I know and that’s why I’m wearing the gloves, too. Everyone has a soulmate but sometimes it’s easier to not touch skin.”

”That's the general idea around soulmates, yes. They don't often cover other possibilities, since differences are uncommon. However, even if something is uncommon... It shouldn't mean exceptions to the rule should be ignored.”

”There are exceptions?”

”Yes. There are people who are born with more than others, who are granted a special talent to see colors from the beginning. Because soulmates need each other to see colors, being born with colors is a remarkable treat. This means you'll be a great artist someday.”

For emphasis, Mary stroked his back firmly. Dean looked straight into his mother's eyes, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. Finally, it clicked.

”This means I don't have a soulmate.”

Mary could have lied – in all honesty, it wasn't like her boy was going to go look for his soulmate yet anyway. But she knew that in the long run it was going to break both their hearts that much worse; his brother and his friends all finding soulmates, and his hopes for himself slowly dying...

So this Wednesday was as good a day as it was ever going to get.

Dean's hands were trembling, but he smiled down at them.

”Why are you sad, mommy?”

”Oh, I'm not sad, honey. I just want to hear your thoughts.”

”You told me that I shouldn’t lie. You shouldn’t lie either.”

Without letting Mary answer, Dean wrapped his little arms around her.

”Don't be sad. This means I can concentrate on art better.”

With a sigh, Mary patted his elbow. She wasn't going to let Dean know just how upset she was about this – and still, her son was already comforting her, probably at his own expense.

Maybe it's better like this, she mused. It wasn't like anyone would have been good enough for such a pure, kind-hearted soul anyway.


	2. A Start

Charlie's voice was high enough to raise the dead. ”I am  _ so _ sure!”

Dean frowned at his sculpture for a second longer before turning his head to meet his roommate's gaze across their tiny studio apartment.

”Hello to you too.”

She grinned and took a skipping step towards their kitchenette. ”Man! You didn't leave me coffee!”

”Doesn't seem like you need any, but by all means, brew yourself a cup. Brew me another one and tell me what you're so sure of.”

”It's Gilda,” she sighed, ”I'm sure about Gilda.”

Dean huffed. One of these conversations again, then. ”Don’t know who that is, but she’s not the first one you've been sure about.”

Charlie Bradbury, Dean's roommate since their first year in college, was a dreamer and that was putting it mildly. She'd met tons of girls during her school years and she'd been sure of most of them, and she'd been let down more times than she could count with her fingers. Dean admired her continued positivity and patience through her soulmate-hunt.

After graduation, Dean had thought things would calm down, but it was more of the opposite. Working temporary shifts as a chef at various venues, Charlie met tons of people and all of them were her cup of tea. Unlike most, she was never opposed to the idea of cheap thrills – getting acquainted with someone who obviously wasn't a soulmate and getting some colors in return. Then, there were people like Gilda, people that Charlie hoped would change the course of her life and make her see colors for good.

”No, Dean, I don’t think you understand. She's amazing! If you met her, you would definitely agree with me and think I shouldn't settle for anything else than her.”

”But who is she? Why haven’t I heard of her?”

”She's a sous chef at a restaurant I've done some rush hour helping in.”

”I see. And you want to stir a soup with her?”

”Well, duh, of course. But also, I've got a really good feeling about her. She's taken, sure, but she's just so easy to hang around with and she's got this really calming voice and, and aura to her that-”

”She's taken?”

”Yeah, but she kind of already pointed out that it’s not her soulmate she’s with. I think it's that dude that sometimes comes around. I don't like the dude very much.”

”Of course you don't. Now, have you asked how she deals with touching?”

Charlie scoffed.

”Dean, you just don't ask people how they deal with touching. That's kind of private, you know.”

”Depends on the person,” Dean stated, stretching his arms upwards. Working on a piece for too long without a break always did a number on his back.

”Well, I'm glad you had a nice time with some random hookup that wanted to keep on touching, but it's not that common for people to be so comfortable with that.”

Touching was the most intimate thing that could be done – that was something most people agreed on. Touching someone on their skin, whether it was on purpose or not, caused colors to appear regardless of whether the person was a soulmate or not. When prolonged, it could cause side effects, if done with the wrong person; loss of orientation, confusion, incoherence, and distress, for example. There was something to physically touching that some people could not get enough of, though – some were hooked on touching and its colorful side effects. Others were strict on always wearing gloves. It was never an easy guess to try and determine how a stranger would react to an invitation to touch. It felt as private as asking strangers whether they’d like to go for a French kiss as a way of greeting.

There even existed what was called “The 48-hour rule”. If colors lasted for longer than two full days after touching, there would be no mistake - a soulmate match had been made. Some people went as far as to say you’d just “know” upon bumping onto your soulmate, but no scientific proof of that had been provided. 

So initially, if you wanted to find your soulmate, you had to be brave enough to ask for touch.

And that was what Charlie was now hesitating with.

”She seems like such an easy-going person, but also kind of... Kind of conservative, you know? The type to not indulge in nonsense.”

”Well, is she wearing gloves?”

”You have to wear gloves in the kitchen,” Charlie said and went for her freshly brewed cup, idly humming to herself, ”I'd have to see her outside to be sure.”

”Maybe she's an F, too,” Dean said nonchalantly, ”we do happen, you know.”

”Just because she's dating someone she's not soulmates with doesn't make her a- a Failed, Dean.”

Charlie had almost learned to say the word without stuttering. Most people had never heard of not having a soulmate, and they had to adjust around the phenomenon only when encountering such a person. It was scary for many and even though Charlie was one of the most liberal people Dean had ever met, she still had a hard time using such an ill-reputed word to describe one of her closest friends. Besides, no matter how many times Dean had told her that it was fine, she still harbored the thought of Dean secretly craving a soulmate.

She wasn't completely off track, either. Sometimes, Dean thought about the possibility of there just having been a mistake and that in reality, he did have a soulmate somewhere. Someone who was dreamy, possibly blue-eyed, and a bit nerdy over something the same way Dean was nerdy over art and, thanks to STEAM, mechanical engineering. He also loved to work on his '67 Impala when he had time for his hobbies, but these days, that was rare.

But it had been proven years ago. Even though it felt like it was slowly fading away into dull grayness, he did see colors. He always saw colors.

”Well, invite her over.”

Charlie blinked. Once, twice. ”What?”

”I said,” Dean made sure to stretch out the words, trying to hide his grin, ”invite her over. Make her dinner. I'll be out of your hair.”

”What?”

Dean grinned. ”You know you want to.”

”Damn right, I do! I'm just not used to your enthusiasm on this. Usually, you mope around for days before you give me permission.”

”Well, I've got my reasons.”

”Wait, you're not making me drive across the damn state for some supplies for your projects, right?” There was an edge to Charlie's voice that suggested she wasn't completely against the idea. Last time, she'd met a girl on Dean’s clay supply run.

”No, I'm not. I just want the apartment for myself tomorrow.”

”Ew, brother.”

”I need to finish my project,” he said, nodding towards the sculpture, ”before the exhibition. As much as I like your company, you're distracting me from my work.”

”Am not!” she protested with a smirk, ”what are you talking about? I always let you work in peace!”

”You whine about not having anything to do, make up songs, yawn as many times as it takes for me to catch it, try to voice-over what I'm thinking about in that deep husky grown woman voice impression you have, and click away on your fidget cube. Charlie, admit it. You have a problem and it's not my work.”

She laughed and nodded. ”I'll call Gilda and ask her to visit. I’ll make sure she chooses some other day than tomorrow so you'll get to finish your project without my  _ support _ .”

*

For some reason, Dean had thought Gilda would come over on the weekend or in a week. Instead, it was like she had been waiting for the invitation by the phone and in an hour, she was at the door. Dean had only just managed to return to the sculpture that still looked more rococo than neoclassical, and even though he didn't want to admit it to himself, he was glad to be distracted again. He wasn't feeling the piece; it felt wrong, it felt fake, it felt forced. The Spencer Museum of Art had been waiting for his newest masterpiece for so long it was already unfair – and he'd had to push the deadline twice already. As if just for the hell of it, his assigned curator Mr. Mosby had decided to make a big deal out of the Prodigy Winchester's newest addition to their collection.

It would have been nicer, though, if Gilda hadn’t instantly recognized him.

”Dean Winchester,” Gilda said, a glint to her surprisingly serious eyes. ”It's an honor.”

Charlie rolled her eyes, playfully. ”Right. Don't let me disturb you.”

”No, please,” Gilda said, ”I came here because you promised to prepare some dessert. Your roommate is just a pleasant surprise. I've been admiring your work for years, Mr. Winchester.”

”Please, call him Dean or it'll go to his head,” Charlie scoffed while getting familiar with the contents of their refrigerator. Gilda hummed and raised her eyebrows at Dean.

”She's right. It'll definitely go to my head.”

”Right, then, Dean,” she said, smiling but bowing her head a little before sitting down, ”I've followed your career since the start. I was young, but I was in awe of what you could create.”

There was a genuine sense of sophistication to the way she talked and Dean wondered if she could rub some of it off on him. It was fairly common for artists to be well-spoken, and he was definitely an exception. He was the type to bore people to death at art museum dinner parties, since he had no fascinating anecdotes to share. He preferred awkward silence over idle talk, but it might still pay off to have some dignity to his words.

”Well, good for you,” Dean smiled, ”or good for me, actually.”

Point proven, again.

”I could get lost in the hidden details you put into your paintings. My mother had one of your early works in her office and I'd stare and stare at it, hesitant to leave even when I no longer had to wait for her to finish work.”

Gilda trailed off for a moment, letting her eyes stare into nothingness. She shook herself and looked back to Dean before it got uncomfortable.

”I know a lot of people have asked you to continue your painting, but I just want you to know I'm happy to see whatever it is you do. If it's marble and clay sculptures, then bring them on. I want to see the details in your sculptures.”

Dean lazily twisted his upper body to see the sculpture on top of his work station. From where Gilda was sitting on their sectional couch, she couldn’t see what Dean currently had waiting on his desk. It was, of course, a good thing - he didn’t feel like falling from whatever shelf Gilda had put him on. With a sigh, Dean straightened up again.

”Thanks, I guess. I could tell you why I moved to sculpting... But, I don't wanna make this evening about me, since it's clearly about the dessert.”

Charlie, who had tried to hand-gesture Dean out of finishing his sentence in fear of him exposing the real reason why Gilda was here, huffed out a breath.

”You haven't completely ruined your chances for pie, yet,” Charlie said, pointing a wooden spatula towards Dean.

”Are you making a pie?” Gilda asked.

”I didn't plan for a blueberry pie, but it's all I've got ingredients for. Which, in hindsight, is probably definitely what Dean had in mind in the first place.”

Dean grinned and shrugged.

”You have to be prepared for pie in every circumstance.”

”That, I agree with,” Gilda laughed. ”Sorry, I've possibly kept you from working. I'll leave you to it, then.”

While waiting for the pie, Dean sat by his desk and stared at his sculpture. It was an androgynous form; strong and subtly muscular in radiantly sparkling polymer clay, and just as soulless and forced as everything Dean had done during the past year. It would have made sense for him to keep on painting since not doing so made him feel guilty – many people would have given anything to get his sight. Some people were struggling as artists, because they didn't really want the relationship with a not-soulmate but wanted the colors anyway. Some found soulmates and lost all interest to work for anything ever again, instead giving in to a life of hedonism and safety. Dean, on the other hand, was so damn  _ lucky _ .

Luck didn’t make this sculpture meaningful. It didn’t slide across the sculpture, making it take forms, carve deep into its essence and pull something astonishing out. And while Dean could have set the record straight with everyone that referred to him as lucky, he mostly just nodded and said  _ no kidding _ . 

”Hi,” Charlie whispered in his ear, “it’s almost baked. Do you want ice cream or vanilla sauce?”

”Anything that'll get me back on track with working,” he replied and Charlie gently patted his head.

”Come sit at the table. Pie will always get you back on track.”


	3. Stories

Gilda was already at home in the kitchenette; she was humming to herself, scooping vanilla ice cream on top of a generous slice of blueberry pie. As Dean took a seat at the table, Gilda locked eyes with him again.

”I'm really sorry, but I've been thinking about you.”

For a second, it was really awkward. Dean thought Gilda was going to tell him how she felt this unexplainable pull towards Dean, how she'd felt it since she was a child, and how they definitely should try touching to see if the colors lasted. Charlie, of course, thought of the same thing, but it didn't take Gilda long to sense the icy change in the atmosphere.

”No, no, not like … Not like whatever you had in mind. I've been thinking about people without soulmates in general.”

Charlie squinted. ”But you're sure you didn't know Dean was my roommate, right?”

”Of course I didn't know. I'll have you know, I don’t play that dirty.”

”I'm sorry, my lady,” Charlie said and took a light bow with a grin.

Gilda returned the smile with her own, only slightly arrogant grin. ”I'll approve. Okay, so,” she continued as she finally sat down at the table, ”I've been thinking about Failed people. I've been thinking about colors and – and people who are deemed failed by the society just because they see colors.”

Dean lowered his gaze to the pie to avoid awkwardness that was surely going to ensue soon. Gilda, by far, was the first person ever to not even blink when using the f-word. It felt refreshing.

”I don't think there's anything that says failure about seeing colors,” she continued. ”I think it's the opposite.”

”I think it's a failure to not have a soulmate in a world where everyone has one,” Dean stated, ”I don't think I'm a failure, as a person, as an entity. But in a way, yeah, I’ve failed.”

”I can only imagine how it feels. It must be somewhat similar to what asexual and aromantic people feel. In a world where there's a lot of love and plenty of sex, they must feel like they've failed.”

”But even those people find a soulmate who they can play video games with. Like you know, it's called a soulmate, instead of a sexmate or a lovemate, for a reason. Everyone has a person that answers to their every prayer like it's the sweetest lullaby in the universe.”

”That's almost poetic, Dean,” Charlie chuckled, ”but also kind of sad. It's weird to live in a world like this.”

”There’s a reason I love to meet people who are diagnosed as Failed,” Gilda said, and Dean noticed her starting to form her words more carefully now, tilting her head as she spoke, ”because all of them have an unique story that they carry around. Nobody really listens to these people, and that's where I come in.”

Dean saw her trying to meet his eyes again, but he was focused on a blueberry pinned by his fork. He lifted it up to his eye level and silently asked it whether he was being pathetic in his attempt to avoid mature conversation.  _ Do you judge me, pierced blueberry? _

”And I don't want you to tell me your story, but I want to share three that I've got permission to share.”

”Charlie, are you alright with this?” Dean asked. His voice sounded suddenly hoarse and he almost wished she would’ve told them she was bothered by the soulmate talk. ”Gilda is your guest, but we're concentrating on me.”

Charlie nodded. ”I'm fine with this.”

”I promise, Charlie, I will spend the rest of the night admiring your luscious pie,” Gilda said, and there was a tone of playfulness to her voice. Was she flirting with Charlie? ”Alright, let me get started then. First, I want to tell you about Chuck. He's the man I currently live with, and the man I'm in a relationship of sorts with. It's nothing romantic, though, and we're definitely not soulmates.”

This would have been a good point to ask whether she’d found her soulmate, then; but similar to touch, asking for someone’s soulmate situation - or color situation for the matter - could come off as inconsiderate. Some people had no shame in asking or telling, but Dean, partly due to his own intricate situation, had always found it rude. He didn’t go ask people if they still rocked their v-card, either, and to many, it was on the exact same level of private.

So instead, there was silence, until Gilda chuckled.

”Alright, so I live with Chuck at the moment. He's also what they call Failed, but this is where it gets tricky. He doesn't want a soulmate. He's always, ever since he was a child, wished he didn't have one. And even though possibilities have presented themselves, he's never been overwhelmed by seeing colors on random encounters or got hooked on them. So, if your soulmate is everything you ever hoped for, the answer to all your prayers and someone who makes you truly happy – then could it, in Chuck's case, be that his soulmate is answering his wishes by not existing in the first place?”

The suggestion came as such a surprise that Dean could no longer pretend to be interested in a berry. In their world, these thoughts were revolutionary. It was uncommon to think outside the soulmate box in the first place, but this was going even further – it was turning the whole concept upside down and against itself. He stared at Gilda for a good moment before turning his gaze to Charlie, who looked just as surprised. This must be that much harder for her – she was raised in a regular family and had always thought there were no anomalies in the world.

”Of course, I'm not expecting that you have an answer to this,” Gilda said, ”We've been researching the subject, but haven't found any scientific explanation for either the Failed, or the colors, or soulmates for that matter. You can only get so many educated guesses and doctor's examinations on color-seeing children before you head off into assumptions and belief systems that seem almost religious, to be honest. Now, I'm not saying there's no soulmates, since there's indefinite proof of people living happily ever after and gaining colors, but what if it isn't that straightforward?”

Dean huffed to himself. It had been a regular Wednesday and everything had already started to change. This was some new information, definitely, but it didn't matter. It wasn't like Dean had never wished he had a soulmate. Nope – there were moments he  _ longed _ for them, which was sad admitting even to himself. To be longing for something that didn't exist for him? An exercise in futility, that’s what it was.

”Story number two is of a girl called Alex that I know. She hasn't met her soulmate, but she's in a steady relationship anyway. She's really happy, so is her partner, and even though they don't see colors together, it doesn't matter. Both have met their true soulmates, too, and are content with what they've got anyway. They can get glimpses of color together, but it's not like people need color to survive in an urban environment anyway. So there's a bit of free will involved, too, and even though they're not Failed per se, there's hope in their story as well.”

This story reminded Dean of his own past. Once, he had been deeply in love he believed he could change his partner’s mind about the whole soulmate thing. Obviously, that had gone terribly. So yeah, he did know about the idea of choosing your own destiny. He'd been an advocate for it.

”And finally... It's time for story number three,” Gilda said and cleared her throat, ”people who have already met their soulmate.”

”What?” Charlie chuckled. Dean could understand why – most stories they ever heard were of soulmates meeting each other and cue violin music, hazy rose-hued atmospheres and that gut feeling of  _ this is it. _

”I know of a woman who’d met her soulmate early in her life and just didn't remember it. They'd met at a playground twenty-five years earlier.”

”That's unlikely,” Dean stated, ”if this were the case, there should be more people who can see color but are missing a soulmate. After all, there'd be two for every case.”

”The impact of meeting one's soulmate is strong, yes, but to continuously live without them... For the woman I told you about, her colors had faded. She did still see color, but it was really  _ blah _ .”

Dean could actually feel his heart jump and get stuck on his throat. He tried to brush it off with anything –  _ anything _ – but his blood already felt like boiling. Vaguely, he thought of how human nature had the tendency to use any excuse if it headed towards what was mostly desired. Was there  _ a reason _ , other than low mood, for what had been happening with his art lately?

”Is that a legit thing that can happen?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm but it failed him here and there, ”Your colors fading because you're away from your soulmate?”

”Well, according to this source, yes. It can be different to different people, I guess. And as for there not being more people who see color... What if they're just labeled as Failed and never even consider that might not be the case? What if they don’t really even know that they already see colors?”

Dean had never thought of this and right now, he felt his head was about to explode. His mother had always been sure about him seeing colors, but that was because he’d been acting “strangely” around art and later been tested for color vision. If it weren’t for his interest in art, would he even have been labeled as Failed?

”Is this happening to you, Dean?” Charlie asked, leaning forward. As always, she was too observant for her own good. Dean hesitated on answering.

”I don't know, to be honest.”

Gilda's eyes almost zoomed in on him. She was trying to read for any sign of what was going on in his head, and this was a moment where Dean wished he'd taken acting lessons as a kid. He tried his best to conceal whatever was going on. He'd need to talk to Charlie when they were alone... Maybe.

”Look, if there's even the slightest chance you've met your soulmate earlier, you should let me know right now. Chuck and me – we could help with tracking them down.”

”Like I said, I don't know what's going on. But I doubt I need an entourage for some dating quest.”

”You do need one, though,” Charlie smiled, ”and I'm coming, wherever it is we're going.”

This was happening too soon. Dean considered leaving the place to have a walk, but instead he chose to get up and stroll around the apartment. The adrenaline was kicking in, leaving him shaky in its wake.

”I'm sorry if I've upset you,” Gilda said, ”but you're clearly in a phase of  _ pining  _ already and I want to help you out.”

”You have only just met me!” Dean's voice came out harsher than he meant and Charlie glared at him for that, ”you don't know whether this is me pining or- or if I’m feeling constipated!”

”Well, of course I have just met you! And I didn't think of you as anything but a great artist, who also happens to be labeled as a Failed, and I am sorry you think I'm trying to attack you. But I’m curious and I want to help people out, and that's sincerely all I’m aiming for here.”

”Gilda's a good bet, Dean,” Charlie said, ”I, for one, would like to find out more about the Failed and how one of the fairest and most lovable, talented people I ever met became one of them.”

”I didn't become one of them. I was always one of them, dammit. I was born one.”

Charlie shrugged. Dean tried to calm his mind and keep from thinking that she was only doing this for the possibility of spending more time with Gilda. Also, he was tired and couldn’t think straight.

*

Dean couldn't sleep. He was sprawled across the bed and determined to succeed, but it was to no avail.

He couldn't shake the image of two people meeting at a playground. It was a far fetched idea, but there was something to it he couldn't pinpoint that he needed to figure out.

Had he always had an eye for color?

According to his mother, he'd always seen colors – he'd always painted lovely pictures that were bursting with hues and tones that were elaborate even for older artists. Mary, of course, had seen the paintings in all their glory; she'd met her soulmate John early on. This skill, combined with how he used to act around art museums, had his mother suspect for the worst. That had resulted in a series of tests Dean could only vaguely remember now. The outcome, on the other hand, was clear as a bell in his mind.  

But if that had always been the state of things, wouldn't he have met and touched his soulmate before he first picked up the crayons?

As a  _ baby _ ?

No, that would have been too weird.

And yet...

It already felt like things had started clicking into place.

But did he even  _ want  _ a soulmate? He had his life he'd worked hard on, and he was a successful artist with a few close friends, he was doing well despite being called something that he never felt he was... And having all that taken away from him felt a little odd, to be honest. He felt like Failed was a huge part of what he had become. It had become a part of his identity.

Nah, there was no point in dwelling in this. Everything he was wasn't gonna be taken away from him even if he found a soulmate. He'd succeeded  _ despite _ his status, not because of it.

And there was even more to all of this – why Dean stopped painting and moved on to sculptures. It indeed felt like he’d just lost his grip on painting and started to get the blues. He'd stopped perceiving colors the way he used to, and he'd blame low spirits and lack of inspiration for that. So what if, after all that he'd been thinking about and blaming himself of, it'd just been because so much time had passed since he'd last met his soulmate?

”Dean?”

The voice, of course, belonged to Charlie. Dean hadn't talked to her since Gilda left – not because he was angry at her, not really, but because he'd wanted to think about all of this by himself without anyone trying to sway him. It wasn't like he'd needed time to consider what his decision would eventually be, though; he'd always missed his soulmate and hated that he didn't have one. If there was a chance, however slim, that he had one after all... He'd be a fool if he didn't take the opportunity and see this through.

”Yeah,” he whispered. Their studio apartment didn't afford the luxury of separate bedrooms, so he could've just mouthed the words and Charlie would have heard her through the curtain he used to give himself a low level of privacy when he slept.

”I'm sorry if I pushed you earlier,” she said, and by the tone of her voice, it was obvious she'd been practicing her speech in her head, ”I just-”

”It's alright, Charlie,” Dean said, pulling the curtain away. ”I've been thinking about this.”


	4. Five

****

Dean tried to push aside the feeling of being used as a research subject – although it wouldn't have mattered much. If he had to go through one more set of tests before ending up with his soulmate, he'd gladly pay the price. It wasn’t likely that would actually happen; Gilda and Chuck were both hobbyists with no access to any professional soulmate testing equipment.

When they ventured to meet Gilda at the end of her shift, she seemed overjoyed and excited and compared to her formal, sophisticated self, almost childlike. She made it known that she'd never do anything that Dean didn't give consent to, and that they should treat this more as a game than a serious hunt for a soulmate. And, sure enough, as Charlie and Gilda joined forces, the whole experiment was soon called 'a quest' to find 'a fair companion’. Dean was a bit of an outsider when it came to the whole gaming experience Charlie probably got all her inspiration from, but now she seemed to have found a friend to enthuse with.

The final person to join them over a cup of gas station quality coffee was a man called Chuck Shurley. He was the person Gilda had talked of during their first meeting, and sure enough, he seemed like the hermit type. He was happy to meet a fellow Failed and got into a serious debate with Dean about class rankings in society and how the soulmate culture was forced upon children.

”They should let people grow up as they are and if it's meant to be, they'll find their soulmate,” Chuck had said, ”it'd bring more equality.”

Dean had wanted to ask if Chuck was against the whole idea of the upcoming journey. But he said he’d pack lunch and was more than eager to get braggy about how much traveling usually helps his writing, so it wasn't brought up again.

Gilda and Chuck worked well together. They were obviously on the same wavelength, and for a moment, Dean could picture them being soulmates. He wanted to stay loyal to Charlie, though – as with everyone else Charlie had brought around, he'd consider Gilda her oblivious soulmate until proven wrong. He did secretly hope they'd realize it only after finding his truth, though. Many people had been lost from much more important causes due to suddenly running into their soulmate.

On day one, Dean and Charlie packed up their bags and left their apartment – including Dean's sad excuse for a sculpture – to join Gilda and Chuck in their quaint apartment of two bedrooms. There was plenty of room on the floor to put some mattresses in and sure enough, they had a real sleepover mood going on the first night.

”I was so happy to meet Chuck, to be honest,” Gilda said, ”in a sense, he's my soulmate for whenever fishy stuff needs to be taken care of.”

”What kind of fishy stuff are we talking about here? Breaking into stores or money laundering?” Charlie asked. Dean followed their conversation sitting at the end of a mattress with a glass of something bubbly in his hands. He wasn't even feeling dizzy yet, it was only his second glass, but the atmosphere was quickly making him nostalgic over something he never even had. He had never been the popular kid at school, and only popular kids had sleepover parties.

”Stuff like this, I guess,” Gilda chuckled, ”I don't think anyone else would be weird enough to support me in this research. It goes against the grain by a landslide.”

”Not to mention, I can drive,” Chuck added, glancing up from his notebook, ”also, I have a car. Not a good car, but a car.”

”That is the most important reason I keep you around, yes,” Gilda nodded. ”Not the only one, though.”

”Point proven,” Chuck said, quickly returning to whatever notes he was making. Dean smiled at him nonetheless. He noticed Gilda looking his way and met her gaze with an almost bashful grin.

”Where to start with you, though?” she asked with a smile. ”How long have you seen colors?”

”Apparently always,” Dean said and picked up his phone from where it lay on the floor, ”I can confirm from my mom, though. I'm pretty sure I've always drawn and painted with colors.”

”No need to bother your mom, then. Most children start drawing roughly at the age of one, or when they can hold up a crayon. Did your family have many acquaintances during those times?”

”Uh, I'm sorry, I don’t know,” Dean tried his best to remember, but couldn't come up with anything. There were hardly any people in his life. He hadn't even had a best friend growing up.

”Do you think your mom prevented you from touching your playmates?” Gilda asked. 

This was another thing that was constantly brought up in media, in politics, in private forums, in casual conversations. Some people wanted their children to touch others so they'd get as many color experiences as possible – some also believed that would make their children more intelligent growing up. Some, though, wanted to keep their kids away from stuff like that, since it was possible to get very overwhelmed upon encountering colors at a very young age.

”She did,” Dean finally nodded, ”She wanted to keep me and my brother safe from any harm… Or experiences, for the matter.”

”She might have failed,” Chuck sighed, ”it's impossible to know. I mean, what other possibilities are there?”

”A babysitter?” Charlie suggested.

There was a moment of silent aggressive thinking, but Gilda's brains were fast.

”Then there's very little choice,” she said, slowly, ”you have indeed almost been born with colors. You've met your soulmate at the hospital.”

”I wasn't-”

”She means when you were born, stupid,” Charlie said, ”so don't even start.”

”Is my soulmate a doctor? A midwife?”

”We could track down who has had access to you through occupation, yeah, but my best bet is that you accidentally touched them when you  _ both _ were babies.”

”Seems like a stretch to me,” Chuck sighed, ”but if Dean's willing to give this one a go, then sure.”

Dean and Charlie exchanged looks. She shrugged.

*

For once, Dean was grateful to have been born in a small town. It was inconvenient in many ways; they had to travel long distances to meet any qualified doctor, bus rides to school had been torture, and nobody had missed the fact that he was a Failed. He’d been bullied his fair share. But now, the tides had turned -- it didn’t take them long to figure out how many people were born during the same time period that Dean was. First, they decided to narrow the time down to two weeks -- it wasn’t likely children were kept in longer than that. Of course, emergency situations were different, but in those situations babies were rarely kept with other babies and thus it was impossible for an emergency child to have touched Dean.

That left five. Five people born during the same two weeks as Dean Winchester. This information was something that should have been classified, but it was not a problem to a duo like Charlie and Chuck -- no morals, overpowered enthusiasm and mad hacking skills. After some intensive googling done while Gilda and Dean enjoyed a cup of tea on the balcony, they also had phone numbers. None of these people had stayed in town, which wasn’t a surprise -- there was nothing left here.

During the dial tone, Dean realized he'd never felt more nervous.

During explaining what he’d been doing and how it was possible the receiver of the call was now hearing from their soulmate for the first time… It made Dean realize he was wrong earlier.  _ That  _ was definitely the most nervous he’d ever felt.

The first person he talked to was a woman called Lisa. At first, she made sure to tell Dean that she was already in a stable relationship -- and they were getting married soon, no less. Upon listening to Dean’s desperation, she started to consider meeting him. That hinted that the man she was getting married though possibly wasn’t her soulmate - had he been, she would never agreed to meet. She didn’t say anything clarifying, and Dean didn’t ask.

Lisa had an apartment in Kansas City, so it was easy to meet up with her. She was free during the weekend, and they'd have a casual cup of coffee. In no way was Dean cutting in between people that were obviously going to go through with spending their lives together.

There was another good side to meeting so soon: Dean not having time to stress or get anxious over things. As his new group of quest friends helped him pick up clothes for the date, they talked over the plan.

”I don't think you should touch any of these people,” Gilda mused, ”they'll get colors and you'll get overwhelmed. It's likely your colors will sharpen again too, no matter who you touch – and then you have to wait it out before continuing.”

”I don't understand,” Chuck asked, ”why not touch them all and just see if the effect will last?”

”I don't want to get into that,” Dean said, ”I'd have to wait for 48 hours minimum, and that'd be time wasted if I did it with someone I don't even click with. Besides, I feel more comfortable getting to know these people first, and if we're both feeling it, we'll shake hands or something.”

”Wow, that's really romantic. A true love's handshake.”

”Shut it, Chuck,” Gilda said, ”Dean is allowed to do whatever he decides to do.”

“True,” Charlie said. “Are you going to ask them whether they see colors?”

Dean grimaced. “Nah. They’ll tell me if they feel like it.”

“Besides, it’s uncertain,” Chuck said, tapping the pen against his notebook now, “not everyone is taught what seeing colors actually looks like. That’s by no means a barometer for compatibility.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I see colors,” Dean said, “and that’ll have to be enough for now.”


	5. Lisa

The first thing Dean noticed upon walking into the designated chain coffee shop was that Lisa looked  _ kind  _ \- she had that type of radiant, homely, beautiful kindness to her. She was sitting at a booth with an absent-minded smile on her face, and as her eyes met Dean's across the room, she immediately knew who he was. The shop was crowded with rush-hour customers that had to yell to hear each other as if in a bar.

”Hi,” Dean yelped, nodding and almost offering a hand to shake already. ”Nice to meet you. I'm so glad you could find time for this.”

”Me too, to be honest. Nice to meet you too.”

A waitress arrived next to them and took Dean's order for coffee and pie.

”It's not like this will change anything, I want you to know that,” Lisa said, ”Me and Don, we talked about this and agreed it's good to meet you. What I truly want from my soulmate, though, is for him to give his blessing for my upcoming marriage.”

”And I have no reason to not give it to you, in case I turn out to be your soulmate, I'll have you know,” Dean said with a nod. ”I just... To be honest, I hope it's not you. I mean, no offense, but I started looking for my soulmate because I...”

Lisa tilted her head slightly and frowned. Dean wondered if he was going too far already. He'd only just met the woman – he was spilling out too much. Then again, if they were soulmates, it would be a good thing to share as much as possible as soon as possible.

”Yes, go on,” Lisa urged gently.

”I am looking for my soulmate because I miss someone in my life I have never met. I do think you seem like a wonderful person, but at the same time I really hope you're not them. I don't want to share my soulmate with anyone – and if you were to stay with your fiance, just like you should if that's what you want, is that... Isn't that a bit weird if you are my soulmate? After all, aren't they supposed to be everything you ever wished for?”

”I agree,” Lisa smiled, and hesitated momentarily before continuing. “I hope my soulmate is going to be someone who's also met their significant other and we can be friends and hang out as couples or something. That's what I've always truly wanted. To have couples' nights. Lame, right?”

There was a slight blush covering her cheeks as she received her coffee. She's really into her fiance, Dean thought, or she’s embarrassed to share the information of not having found her soulmate yet.

”There's nothing lame about that. In fact, that's what I want too. I want ...”

He let himself trail off. During the last day or two, he'd been going full on cliche on what he wanted. He wanted movies, he wanted walks on sunny beaches, he wanted late breakfasts and even more... He wanted someone to  _ hold _ him. He wanted someone to hold him hard enough to make him forget he was supposed to feel manly and not like stuff like that – that he's only supposed to like holding people.

”I know,” Lisa said with a smile, ”you want love.”

It was Dean's turn to blush.

”Exactly.”

”And you'll get there, I promise you,” she proceeded and tapped his clothed arm lightly. ”You seem like a wonderful person and I'd be surprised if you weren't snatched up before you're finished with looking for your soulmate. Speaking of which, where are you headed?”

”Uh, well. There's four people that were born around the same time. My aim is to find them all and see if any of them is my soulmate.”

Dean and Lisa ended up talking for a bit longer. It was a nice afternoon in a rainy town, and as Dean left, he felt a sense of clarity. There was absolutely nothing he felt for Lisa; she was a nice person, and they'd possibly end up chatting more in the future, but that was all there was. Maybe, eventually, Dean and his soulmate would become the other couple in their couples' night. Who knew?

The whole idea of  _ possibility _ was already starting to feel too overwhelming.


	6. Balthazar

Upon first hearing Balthazar's voice, Dean was sure he'd misdialed. The man had an edge of a  _ dandy _ to his voice, like he had dubbed himself a superstar and just waited for everyone else to know that as well. He was pleased to hear of a person who had also been born in a 'shithole', and was offering to fly in as soon as possible. He lived in Vegas, though, and since both Gilda and Charlie started to yell immediately after hearing about it, they decided to take the flight themselves.

Everything about Balthazar was fantastic. He arranged a meeting at his penthouse and was waiting downstairs as Dean's cab arrived. He kissed the air on both sides of Dean's head, which did seem arrogant since they missed touching only by a hair, and as he turned around, the glitter in his clothes sparkled like stars.

”Please, have a seat,” he said as the elevator doors opened to his humble home with a view of the city, ”I'll fix us something. Is champagne fine?”

Dean nodded and took a seat at the end of the couch. The feeling of  _ what's wrong with this picture _ was imminent; he felt out of place. He was dressed in a fine shirt and some slacks for a change, and his hair was combed nicely – but compared to all the glass and feathers and more and more glitter, he felt like a hillbilly rooster next to a peacock.

”I am pleased to make your acquaintance, dear Dean,” he said with a smile as he returned, ”but I am sorry, I don't have a soulmate.”

”Uh... What?”

Great – Dean also  _ sounded _ like a hillbilly rooster. 

”See, I live here in this wonderful town,” Balthazar said as he walked towards the window. Dean couldn't help but wonder if this wasn’t the first time someone's come up to him with this accusation. That, or he's just been practicing for this just in case. All in all, the man had drama like no soap opera ever could.

”It is a beautiful town, yes.”

This was already getting awkward.

”I know, I know. I live in this town that I've chose to have as my home, and I only have love for it. I love the disco during nights, I love the gambling, I love the people who think seeing colors for a moment is the best thrill you can get. I sometimes even receive money for showing people colors. You know, I cannot have a soulmate in between all this. There's just no space.”

Dean nodded to himself. This was as far as he'd ever been to finding the one he was destined to be with. With an excuse he forgot immediately after it escaped his lips, he returned to the elevator, gave himself a once-over and decided not to feel inferior to someone that was that different from him.

*

After a full day spent catching up with Gilda and Charlie, who were still way too excited to be in Vegas, the group settled down to eat. It was a chain restaurant, nothing too fantastic, placed right outside the city for traveling convenience. They were going to head forward after a night's sleep.

”Two done,” Charlie stated and stole another french fry from Dean's plate, ”how does that feel?”

Dean shrugged. ”Neutral.”

Gilda turned to scrutinize him so he had to make more words happen.

”To be honest, I don't feel different than when we started. I want to continue feeling confident about this journey, since it could be any of these people. I kind of hope it’s not either of the two I’ve met already, since they’re just- so different with what they want out of life.”

”Or you're actually soulmates with your midwife,” Chuck said.

”I don't believe that's the thing. Midwives and doctors wear gloves, after all,” Charlie stated, still eyeing Dean's plate. She'd already finished her jumbo sized fries but still apparently felt like eating.

”Unless there was a rogue one.”

”That's even more unlikely than having touched as babies, Chuck,” Charlie said, ”let's not make pointless conclusions here yet.”

Chuck looked a bit troubled, like he wanted to say that they had jumped into a ton of conclusions from the get-go. Dean understood where he was coming from, but it was mandatory to start somewhere – and there was something in Dean's guts that hadn't gone silent since he heard of the slight possibility that had set them in motion.

“You know, we could also just head home and rethink this,” Chuck continued, clearly too awkward to look towards Dean when he suggested it, “there are a lot of other options.”

“Not yet,” Dean said, without hesitation. “We’re seeing this through.”

”Alright, then. Who's next?” Gilda asked, picking up her phone. She had made a timetable for herself so she could keep up with who they’d met already, and possibly she also made some mental notes on Dean's moods during these days. Dean tried to make a mental note to keep it calm on the outside. There was something very private to what he was feeling, too.

“We’re heading back east. I'll try to contact a guy in Colorado Springs,” Dean said, finishing up his plate and rubbing his hands together to rid them of excess salt.


	7. Crowley

Compared to Balthazar, Crowley was a breath of bar-scented fresh air. And that wasn't only because he asked them to meet in a bar just on the outskirts of Colorado Springs. The place was a cosy mix between old Western movies and modern country charm, and as Crowley greeted him from across the room by raising a cocktail umbrella at him, Dean felt he was being welcomed home.

_ Is this what it's supposed to feel like? _

”Hello, boy. Name's Crowley. Pleasure.”

Dean took a seat and was immediately brought a dark amber drink that was possibly local. It had the distinct scent of his teenage Whiskey in the Jar years, and it furthered Dean's feeling of home.

”Nice to meet you, Crowley. I'm Dean.”

”Figured. Where are you headed?”

”Uh, nowhere, for now. I've got all evening.”

”Splendid. Drinks are on me, then.”

If Dean would have met Crowley somewhere on the streets, he'd never would have thought they'd be of the same age. The man seemed like he'd suffered from countless sleepless nights and way, way, way too much tequila during his younger years. Furthermore, he didn't seem like someone Dean would, in a different setting, get along with. Crowley had built up an arrogant wall of confidence, which obviously hid something down below, and he tried to come off as polished but was rough around the edges – which, to be truthful, reminded Dean a lot about the things in himself he was not comfortable with.

The night ended up with a lot more drinking. Crowley introduced Dean to more local drinks that were or were not whiskey or beer, and while Dean had always thought he had a good head for alcohol, he got wasted pretty fast. At some point, it kind of became a blur of things that were mostly lights and scents and more alcohol, but it was the kind of a head-cleaner Dean felt he needed anyway.

They didn't touch, though, of which Dean was happy. As for the reason why they’d met in the first place… They didn’t discuss. 


	8. Anna

Anna was the hardest to get in contact with. She lived in New York with her brother and was really into contemporary dance and theatre, and that's why she had to keep her phone off for around 23 and a half hours a day. Dean left her some messages, to which her brother answered with cryptic emoji texts, and was already going to move onto the last person on his list when Anna finally called him back.

”I'm sorry for not calling earlier,” she said, her voice came out almost forced and static, ”I've been really busy. Also, I didn't really know what to tell you.”

”Look, I know I might sound like a creep because I keep on contacting you over something like this, but I promise you, I am not.”

”I know you're not. I know your family, kind of. We lived in the same town for a while, you know.”

”Yeah, what's up with everyone leaving town?”

”Well, have you left?”

”Nope.”

”There you go. Not everyone has left.”

”Would you like to... I don't know, meet up sometime?”

”When are you next coming to New York?”

”Well,” Dean said, sighing at the view of Manhattan through his 12th story hotel window. There was something in Anna’s voice that made him hesitate, and then lie. He didn’t want to come off too eager - or a stalker, for the matter. ”I don't know. Do you have any relatives or anything near here so you could possibly meet up with me as you meet up with them?”

”No, I don't. Also, I just don't want to visit the state of racism and narrow-mindedness ever again.”

”Why, thanks. I still live in the state, you know.”

”I figured that from your story of not moving away, you know.”

”I'm sorry.”

This was either going really bad or this was light banter. Dean wasn't sure which he'd prefer.

”So, New York?”

”I could visit, yeah. It's not like I have anything better to do with my time,” Dean said, effortlessly turning away from the sculpture he had packed along for the trip. It'd be only two weeks until Curator Mosby would want his new masterpiece. The more time passed, the more sure Dean was that he wasn't going to be able to pull it off.

”Great. I'll have a break off practicing next Saturday. Call me when you're around and see you then.”

The phone call ended. This was a person Dean already felt was interesting. He was almost anxious to meet up with someone so... Determined.

*

Of all the places Anna could have picked to meet up, she chose the cafeteria of a - a sea park, and one that wasn’t even in New York City, but Long Island instead. Since it was, more or less, an exhibition, it was a place that reminded Dean of what he should have been doing instead of traveling across the country meeting people. Besides that, it reminded him of school trips – from where he was sitting, he could see an aquarium and he could distinctly remember being tossed into one, with a maybe fish are your soulmates, weirdo. Now, he sat down next to the coffee machine and took a deep breath.

Soon, he could feel someone staring at him from across the room and it took a while to pinpoint the culprit. A man stood behind the counter and looked like one of those people who would take you for a tour without your consent and make you pay for it. Even from a distance, Dean could see some of the color of his eyes. It was a piercing shade of blue, like the Arctic Sea or the moment before sunset in the winter. It was overwhelming enough for Dean to get lost in his dreams of finding his soulmate and telling them cliches about their eyes.

Before the whole staring situation got so menacing Dean had to leave, a fire-red haired woman stormed towards him. She flipped her hair in a manner that was both stunning and mean, and gave Dean a stern look.

”So I guess you're him, then.”

”Yes, I'm him. It's very nice to meet you, Anna.”

”Likewise, Dean. You have grown up a lot.”

”In case you're the girl I think you were, so have you.”

”It's impossible to remember both of the girls in your kindergarten class, I know. It must be hard for you, being that smart.”

Anna sat down while Dean wondered if she was mean, sarcastic or using this as a front so Dean wouldn't find out what's going on under her tough exterior.

”Thank you. I know,” he said, nonetheless. ”So. I must ask. Why a sea park?”

”Wow,” she sighed, ”clearly, you've never left your apartment. This is what they call an aquarium. It's got live fishes in it and all. And why this place? I don't know. I like fishes. Also, I had an appointment across the street.”

As Dean was thinking about what kind of appointments Anna could have regarding her line of work, he noticed the man behind the counter looking their way again. There was something in him that reminded Dean of Anna – or maybe, or most likely, he was already imagining things. It had been quite the hell of a couple of days.

”I don't... I don't really go to places with animals, to be honest.”

”Figures.”

”It doesn't mean I don't like animals, though,” Dean stated, ”it only means I'm not on good terms with zoos.”

”Alright, let's leave it at that, then. Now, about why you asked to meet me. Look... Like I said, I don't know what to tell you, here.”

”You're not the first one who doesn't know what to tell me. It's alright. It's far-fetched really. We don't even know whether I actually have a soulmate or if I'm just … If I'm just a failure, overall.”

”I don't think you're a failure, if that matters,” Anna said, but despite her words her voice wasn't nice or soft at all, ”I think you trying to find your soulmate this way is quite creative.”

Her phone rang.

”I'm really sorry, I've got to take this,” she said with a grim smile. Dean could see she was pleased to leave, though. ”I... Uh, I guess we can meet up again? Like I said, though, I don't know what to tell you. I'm not your soulmate, that's what I'm sure of. I don't see color, but I don't … I don't want to see color right now, either, if you know what I mean.”

She left before Dean could ask anything, so he decided to let it go. Instead, he picked up his phone only to read a hasty text from Charlie to come meet up with them. They'd apparently found what was ”the best cheesecake in town” and that if Dean had a taste of it, he'd never need a soulmate again. While it was probable that Dean's soulmate was of the Delicacy family, he was pretty certain it'd be a pie and so, instead of answering the message or even opening it as 'read', he headed out.

*

It started to rain.

Dean could only make it along two more blocks before it fell down as a steel wall of what could only be described as despair. It made him uncertain whether it was merely caused by the weather or if his high spirits were finally running out.

It was inevitably going to happen sooner or later. He'd imagined himself as the eager, playfully reluctant protagonist to this story, this quest, and that he'd learn to trust his gut and shed the cynical aura he had around him when it came to romance. He sought shelter next to some industrial garage doors, to which balconies above served as roofs, and let his mind take him for a shameless self-degrading spin.

In truth, it wasn't like that at all. For starters, he wasn't cynical when it came to romance – he was desperate. He was clinging onto the last pieces of hope he had left. He wanted there to be someone that was destined for him from the get-go, and he wanted this journey to conclude in finding them. Dean had not, at any point, been reluctant to continue after his decision to embark on this journey. He was the one that kept on moving, even though his friends had brought options up already in Vegas -- given him the chance to bail.

But as it had been in Vegas, the facts still remained the same: as long as there was someone left, he hadn't failed. Anna, by far, was the only person Dean knew couldn’t be his soulmate, since she told him outright she didn’t see colors. So now it was a choice between two bad options and a drinking buddy. Also, of course, there was still a possibility that the last person on their list would be a match.

As Dean plummeted deeper into pessimism, he noticed someone joining his shelter. A man shook his arms clear from water and groaned loudly.

”Great. Rain was just what I wanted,” he said, almost to himself but also almost to Dean. ”Just superb.”

His voice was frustrated enough for Dean to almost not want to join in the conversation, but then words were escaping his mouth already.

”You should be happy, then.”

The man turned to look at him in confusion and only then did it click in Dean's head – this was the man from behind the counter at the aquarium. His eyes were unforgettable, but he'd really pictured his voice to be lighter.

What- What, though? Had he been picturing his voice?

”What was that?”

”If you wanted rain, you should be happy you got it.”

There was a pause, after which the man smiled. It was barely there, more in his eyes than on his lips, but there was no mistaking it – a lighter note on his bitter demeanor. Dean returned the smile, but was sure to lower his gaze afterwards.

”That was stupid, you know,” the man said then, ”must be one of the worst things I've ever heard.”

”You're welcome, then.”

The man frowned again.

”Didn't I see you earlier? Were you meeting up with a red-haired girl?”

”Yeah, I was.”

”What was that about?”

Wow, this interrogation came out of nowhere. ”Uh, what do you mean?”

”I'm sorry,” the man said, ”I should introduce myself. I'm Castiel, and Anna's my sister. She was nervous over something earlier and I wondered if it was you.”

”I don't think so. She pretty much mopped the floor with me.”

Castiel looked at the sky that was still pouring.

”That's too bad. If you had come talk to me, I'd sneaked you into the aquarium.”

”You work there?”

Castiel sighed and gestured towards his clothes; an employee uniform under an open trench coat.

”No, I was tending to my hobbies behind the desk. What do you think?”

”Geez, no need to get snarky with me.”

Silence fell. Dean was suddenly eager to keep the conversation going – bitterness aside, this was the most intriguing company he'd had in weeks.

”So, you work there. Why would you sneak me in?”

”I find fishes fascinating. Their company is soothing and usually, when I'm nervous over something, I just go watch them. There's so many different kinds of fishes, too. Kind of one for every occasion.”

”Huh, whaddya know. And here I was thinking the plural of fish is fish. There's much I could learn from you.”

”It's more common, yes. But I tend to get my scientist gear on when I talk about different species of fishes. That's why the plural 'fishes'. There's a lot more to that, but maybe we could get into etymology after you've seen the actual things.”

Castiel started walking, and even though Dean wasn't sure if it was an invitation, he followed. They stomped along the street and back to the aquarium that had closed its doors in the meantime – maybe by the man himself. He stepped in as Castiel held the door and waited for him to put on some lights. Instead, Castiel walked to the far end of the lobby and turned to wait.

”I'll have you know,” Dean said, almost a shout because the room was so big, ”I'm not really that big on fish... fishes.”

Castiel tilted his head. ”What do you mean?”

I mean you could throw me in an aquarium for all I know. I've got no reason to trust you, no reason to be here and absolutely no reason to go see fishes.

”I've had some unpleasant experiences.”

Castiel stepped through a door and to a hallway that was filled with aquatic themed posters. A couple of doors headed out from here, and Dean figured this was not the main entrance; he was getting the VIP treatment. For some reason, that made his chest buzz. He shook his head. Way to go, Winchester. The shift in your mood proves exactly how desperate you are for attention and romance.

As Castiel proceeded through another door, they were outside. It was hard to see in the rain, but Dean was pretty sure some big-ass animals were closeby. Sea lions, sharks, manta rays even? It was a thought both thrilling and just scary. But after the next door, all that was pushed aside.

The sight was nothing short of magnificent. Enormous, turquoise and cyan colored tanks with full blooming coral ecosystems, sunken ships and fishes, so many different sized and colored fishes! Dean, after the initial sense of awe, started walking beside a wall made out of glass and let his eyes wander across the monuments pulled together by the cooperation of nature and man.

”I gotta give it to you, man,” he said, ”this is a lot different from what I'm accustomed to.”

”I take pride in what I do. What are you accustomed to?”

”Some brown-water low-filtered excuse of an aquarium I was tossed into as a kid for being a F-”

Oh, oh no. Definitely not gonna bring that up.

”For being a what? A fool? A fucker?”

”Something like that, yeah.”

Castiel walked a couple of feet behind him, bemused.

”It's something you'd never consider you end up doing,” Castiel stated, finally.

”What's that?”

”How you... How you plan out your life. I didn't plan to become an aquarium employee. I've always loved animals, but I thought I'd become something more dignified.”

”And this ain't?” Dean gestured towards the tank opposite them, its fishes playing along some golden flowers swaying in water’s currents.

”Of course this is. Like I stated, I take pride in what I do. How should I explain this? Initially, I thought I'd end up in Africa and help endangered animals in their natural habitat. Instead, I help the animals in a fauna version of a circus.”

Dean didn't know what to say, so he stayed silent.

”I'm boring you,” Castiel said.

Dean dodged the accusation. It was far from the truth but he couldn’t exactly say he felt his heart break a little just now. Why did he have to feel so- so intensely?

”So what's your line of work here, then?”

”Besides planning the exhibitions and building these aquariums, I take care of the animals. I feed them, do some daily routine checkups and see that they're happy in their environment. I do the best I can, but it's still just putting animals in cages for people's amusement.”

”I see,” Dean said. He felt hollow down to his stomach, he could relate to this. Art, for him, was always supposed to be about the fun and the experience and the joy of it. Instead, for a while, it had barely been a means to make a living and please people such as Mr. Mosby that he, in all fairness, did not even care for that much.

”I was told life is about using the whole box of crayons,” Castiel huffed, ”and I'm only using the grays.”

Dean hummed, deep in thought. Did this have something to do with soulmates, as well? Had Castiel not found the right person yet or was Dean just reading too much into this?

”This took a deep turn,” Castiel said, then, ”Sorry for taking today's stress out on you.”

”It's good,” Dean assured, ”at least there's something else to think about than my own problems for a change.”

”You never told me why you were meeting up with Anna.”

”I... I'd rather keep that to myself.”

”I can always make her tell me.”

Dean frowned and turned to face Castiel. Teal lights played on his cheekbones on a way that was only a bit breathtaking and Dean had to shake his head again. Keep it clear, now.

”Why do you care?”

Castiel shrugged and turned away.

”It sounds like the rain has cleared. I think it's best for us to give the fishes some space. That is, unless you want to go see sharks. They’re right up the stairs.”

He pointed towards a wide, gently sloping staircase a couple of feet from them. Dean felt his breath hitch out of anxiousness, and could barely keep his voice in control.

“Nah, it’s all good. Let’s- let’s just do the privacy thing.”


	9. Shapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the art by the awesomesauce [nonexistenz](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11984661). Go!! Love them!!

”How are you feeling?”

Gilda's question almost caught Dean off guard. He'd seen how all three of his friends had been side-eyeing him for a while now, but didn't want to ask because he wasn't really feeling like talking.

He was in an alright mood, although maybe a little disoriented by all the people he'd met. He still wasn't coming closer to the solution of the puzzle - instead, it started to feel like he himself was the missing puzzle piece. He'd felt a connection to all of the people he'd met, but it’d been shallow – like all of those people who had their birthplace in common would get along really well. Maybe, in a different universe, they would eventually even hang out. But now that the situation was this, it felt weird to think about bringing them all together. _Hi, all of you have been tested for being my soulmates and none of you I felt that attracted to. Now, let's hang out._

And it was so like Dean to keep on thinking about those blue eyes that almost belonged to Anna, but did in fact belong to her brother. After the sudden heart-to-heart, they'd separated on good terms yesterday, but didn't exchange cell numbers. Dean would have wanted to ask for that to happen, but since Castiel didn't even know why Dean was meeting up with his sister, it felt wrong. It felt both sad and wrong.

”I'm doing alright,” he answered, finally, ”just overwhelmed.”

”Oh I bet you are. Do any of these people seem right to you?” Charlie asked from the windowsill of their hotel room.

”Nah, not yet. Of course, I can’t be sure, but... Is it supposed to be this hard?”

Charlie giggled lightly. Dean frowned.

”What?”

”The right one will come along, trust me,” she said, ”when the moment is right and you need to join forces for the greater good.”

She winked at Gilda, who blushed and shook her head. Chuck rolled his eyes and focused on his notebook. One day, Dean would love to read whatever it was he was writing. Now, though, there were more urgent matters at hand.

”Charlie, are you for real?” he asked, ”you couldn't have waited for this trip to be over?”

”I'm sorry! It was an accident!”

”In our defense, it really was an accident. Neither of us had a clue what would happen when we touched. We brushed elbows at a crowded elevator in Vegas... And we're both still seeing vibrant color,” Gilda explained. Dean tried, tried his best to be happy for his friend because it was the least he could do, but he felt _bitter_.

”I'm happy for you,” he forced out nonetheless.

”For now, we want to see this through to the end,” Charlie added, ”we both want you to be happy. That's what’s good in soulmates too. They want the same thing.”

”That'd be super lame. To never have any arguments with anyone,” Chuck said. ”I'd be bored to death. Also, it makes me feel weird that people are manipulated by their soulmates like that.”

”I don't even know what you're trying to say now, but say no more, brother,” Gilda said, ”I can confirm that it's nothing like you expect it to be. It's not a cure-all, it’s not an explosion of love at first sight. It's more of a realization, really. It's having someone next to you.”

”I prefer free will over that,” Chuck sighed and shrugged, ”but I guess we all are entitled to our own opinions.”

*

Dean excused himself, heading to bed early. He was almost asleep when he heard his phone vibrate on the desk next to him.

”Hi,” a familiar voice said, ”did I wake you up?”

”Uh, barely,” he answered, trying to figure out who was on the other end of the line.

”I was rude earlier,” the voice proclaimed, ”and I wanted to make it up to you. Are you busy tonight?”

Anna. Dean felt a slight buzz in his chest. He'd thought his encounters with his New York acquaintances were over, but apparently he could think again.

”Uh, like you guessed, I was asleep.”

”Could you come over tonight? I... I have to tell you, there’s no second thoughts here, I just wish for us to part on better terms. If you have your friends there, you can bring them along too. My brother's gonna be here with his friends, as well.”

”Uh. I guess that's a thing I could do,” Dean heard himself answer. It was obvious he wouldn't have agreed to this if Anna's brother wouldn't have been mentioned, but he didn't even bother scolding himself over that. He was a bit too excited.

*

Obviously, Charlie and Gilda wanted to take this opportunity to meet up with some new people, so along with a hesitant Chuck, they headed towards the address Anna had given them. She'd said she was not home tonight, but at a cottage they owned about an hour drive away. It was already dark as they started driving uphill towards the only lights to be seen around, and stars were getting brighter by the minute. With the current atmosphere, it was almost as if something was destined to happen. Silently, Dean scoffed at himself for this. _Destiny, now, too? Really, Winchester?_

Anna was sitting on the front patio and greeted them with an unexpected smile.

”Hi there,” she said, ”how nice of you to be able to make it. There's more people indoors, but if you don't want to meet strangers today, we can also just hang out here.”

”I'm all up for strangers,” Chuck said, and Dean was pretty sure he heard him continue under his breath, ”you can use them as writing reference.”

”Also, there's drinks, you can help yourselves. I came outside to catch some air.”

So this was Anna in a relaxed state. Dean was happy to make her acquaintance, but he did wish this was what he'd received in the first place. Well, he guessed, it must feel that much easier for Anna now that they were on the same page. Before, she hadn't had the opportunity to tell Dean she didn't want to find a soulmate right now.

They headed inside and Dean took in the atmosphere of the place. A fire was burning in a fireplace, some candles here and there lit the room. No electricity was to be seen and it immediately made the cottage feel homely.

Castiel sat cross-legged across the room with some friends, apparently playing a game of spin the bottle or something as mature. As his gaze met Dean's across the room, he nodded politely. Dean’s stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with fluttering fireflies. This was _pathetic_.

”Drinks,” he sighed to his companions and headed towards the kitchen. A gas-powered freezer had some Long Island Ice Teas and beer, the reds and whites were on display at the countertop next to it. Dean grabbed a bottle of red wine and a glass and returned to the room with the spinning bottle. There was a couch next to the players, and he took a spot at the corner of it. Gilda and Charlie sat next to him, immediately intrigued by the game.

After a while, it started to get too hot. It was not the game per se – it wasn't like they were teenagers and playing a kissy version of this. Instead, they had the version of truths and dares to go with it and talked for way too long with each question. There just wasn't much ventilation in the small cottage, and having a lot of people and a lot of fires inside it was not helping. So, after Dean decided he'd been sitting there long enough, he excused himself through the back door.

The temperature had dropped drastically after the sun had set, and huffing out a cloud of vapor, Dean rubbed his palms against his arms. He could barely make out the outlines of surrounding trees above him, and the clear view of the Milky Way caused him to exhale with a low whistle. This was a place he'd happily spend more time in, any day. He'd love to watch the sun come up and go down, catch some shooting stars and escape to the warmth of the cottage afterwards. He'd always kind of romanticized the idea of a simpler life.

He looked back and noticed the party still continuing indoors. He was in no mood to head back yet, and he secretly hoped someone – preferably Castiel, but anyone would do – would join him as he started walking. He made sure to keep the cottage in his line of sight the further he went and navigated through tall pine trees. He hoped to get to an opening, so he'd have more sky to look at, but he couldn’t see any clearings directly ahead. So instead, he enjoyed the coldness of the air and the rustling of the branches up high.

Soon, the terrain started to ascend a little, the trees giving way to a clear trail. Dean turned to look behind every now and then to both see if he was still in the clear with directions and to check if anyone was following. It was too dark to see, anyway, so he'd have to rely on his sense of hearing. For now, the only footsteps around were his own.

The clearing in the woods came after a sharp turn to the left. It was as if the sky had fallen lower to greet Dean right there, to take him into its loving embrace and let him see just how much it was to be alive. Instantly teary-eyed, Dean continued for a few more feet before he let himself fall down into the freshly cut grass. Maybe this area was someone's backyard or belonged to some other complex, but since no lights were to be seen, he doubted anybody would mind. Dean let out a breath, and another one. This was truly a gorgeous thing to behold and he was so lucky to be there – and he'd never even been that interested in the night sky before. There was something in nature itself that seemed to calm him down and that he'd ever forgotten that... It was devastating.

Maybe he'd be alright, no matter how this journey turned out in the end. Maybe he'd find what he was looking for – a muse, inspiration, a new set of eyes – even if he didn't find a soulmate. Maybe Mother Nature was his soulmate and that's why simpler life intrigued him in the first place.

Soft footsteps were followed by a quiet _thump_ of someone lying down beside him. A soft exhale escaped Dean's lips – it was a sigh of relief.

”Fancy meeting you here,” Castiel's words were low and almost honey-soft, ”you’re currently lying on a Senator’s backyard.”

”Uh,” Dean grunted, not really willing to get up. “Sorry?”

“I come here, too,” Castiel admitted and Dean could hear the smile in his voice, “She’s never here. Did we bore you with the game? Did we ruin your fun?”

“Nothing ruined my fun. Ya know, it gets a bit heated up in places like that.”

”It does, doesn't it?”

”Do you like stars?”

In all honesty, Dean could've asked anything to keep Castiel talking. He wanted to know, though, if he was as mesmerized by the night.

”I do.”

”Me too.”

Castiel huffed. ”I've never met anyone who doesn't like stars.”

For some reason, Dean felt a bit stupid because of this. He decided not to let it get to him. ”Well, me neither, I'd think. There's a vast difference between people who think they're absolutely beautiful and people who are kind of 'meh' about them, though.”

”Are we in a star-liking contest?”

There was an amused tone to his voice - actually, it never left it. Dean wanted to reach out and touch him – just to see if he was really there. In this pitch-black starry heaven space, it felt surreal.

”Nah, you'd lose,” Dean said.

After a moment of silence, figures finally started to form in the dark. He could see a water tower in the distance, the opening in the trees where he entered the clearing and Castiel lying there with what seemed like his arms behind his head, completely relaxed. Dean felt a sparkle of joy.

”What's your favorite constellation?” he decided to ask. Before answering, Castiel angled his arms to rest his upper body on them and let his head fall back. Even in the dark, Dean could make out the lines of his jaw and neck and had to shake himself out of any thoughts that came with it.

”There's so many. I do like Pleiades and Orion, but I think my heart belongs to Aquarius.”

Dean cleared his throat for no apparent reason. ”Any particular reason?”

”I... Don't know. As a child, I saw a picture of the Aquarius constellation and immediately pictured them as an entity that had their arms extended in front of them, as if ready for an embrace. I liked that. I think it sticked.”

”That's nice. I'm much lamer, I like Cassiopeia.”

_Also, it’s pretty much the only one I know,_ Dean thought.

”That's lame. I knew you wouldn't hold a candle to my star enthusiasm.”

Castiel got back up on his feet and Dean felt it necessary to follow his lead. They walked back towards the cottage in complete silence.

*

The amount of alcohol Charlie and Gilda had consumed while Dean was gone was pathetic. They were still on their same glass of wine and engaged in a conversation about finding soulmates with some people who had clearly found each other recently, too. Chuck was in a conversation with Anna, but both seemed relieved to get out of the situation as Dean joined them.

”What's up?”

”Just hangin',” Chuck said, ”hangin' and chillin'. Nothing extraordinary. What's up with you?”

”Not much,” Dean sighed, only barely being able to control himself from letting out all kinds of random rambles about Castiel. ”Should we be heading home soon?”

”Stay the night,” Anna said, ”of course you're staying, right?”

”Uh,” Dean said, glancing Chuck's way, ”we haven't really discussed this. We're not decided on whether we're still driving a bit further today.”

”You've even had drinks,” Chuck hummed, ”so you're definitely not the one doing any driving. Nonetheless, we could discuss this possibility with Charlie and Gilda.”

”It's up to you,” Anna said, and there was something in her eyes that seemed just a bit playful, ”I kind of have been planning breakfast already, but like I said, it's up to you.”

As if on cue, Gilda and Charlie joined their circle.

”What's the buzz about?” Charlie asked. She handed Dean the glass he'd abandoned earlier, and filled it with fresh red.

”I asked you to stay the night,” Anna said, ”I've got way too much food here for just the two of us. I know I should have brought it up immediately when I called you-”

”No, it's fine,” Dean assured, ”I don’t think we’d be continuing anywhere tonight anyway. We can head to New Jersey tomorrow.”

”Fine by me,” Gilda smiled, ”I'll be good wherever this girl is.”

Charlie stuck out her tongue and gently poked Gilda with her elbow. Anna immediately got into whatever soulmate-related questions she had in mind for them, so Chuck and Dean made an awkward crab-walk further away.

”Seems like it's just you and me in this party,” Chuck sighed. His feet seemed restless and he kept on checking his phone.

”If you'd rather hang out with some internet friends, I'm happy to go get something to drink and call it a night soon enough.”

Chuck cringed. ”You sure about that?”

”Of course, I'm positive. You'll owe me some explaining later, but go ahead, leave.”

”It's just. I'm in this writer's circle-”

”Later, I said,” Dean laughed. Chuck blushed and nodded, but left after that.

Dean did as he promised, he had another glass of red wine and asked Anna where he could bunk. She showed him a room that had a queen sized bed and not much else, but it didn't matter – Dean slid between the sheets and fell asleep immediately. It was a couple of hours later when he woke up to the feeling of falling.

No, not falling. The bed was dipping because someone was joining him. First, he was sure it would be Chuck, but his mind was soon changed.

”I'm sorry,” Castiel whispered, ”I didn't mean to wake you up.”

”You just meant to stalk?”

”No. I... I didn't know Anna had asked your people to stay. I invited someone to stay too. Now there's no beds.”

If someone would have told Dean an hour ago that he'd say these words out loud, he would have laughed. Now, though, he was tired and had just woken up from a dream about Castiel and all bets were off.

”That's the lamest excuse you could come up with to get in bed with me?”

Castiel froze. He actually, legit, froze midway flipping his pillow. The genuine confusion wore him better than it should have, and he squinted before carrying on.

”I am here to sleep.”

By the amount of matter-of-factness in his voice, Dean seemed to really have thrown him off his game for a moment. Not that there was a game going on, per se...

”Good for you. Let me tell you, it's not that easy. There might be people that come to your bed suddenly. To sleep.”

Castiel huffed and straightened himself on the bed. For a moment, Dean thought they were going to sleep now, but no – Castiel had other things in mind.

”Anna told me why you were meeting her.”

Dean's mood was quickly dampened. He felt short of breath for reasons he didn't even know – what was he so afraid of? Being judged by a stranger? Not making a good impression on someone he would never see again after tonight?

”Oh.”

And it was audible in his voice as well. He couldn't form a coherent sentence.

”It's none of my business.”

Instead of saying something vague and keeping his calm, Dean ended up snapping at him.

”You're damn right it isn't. Besides, you seem to have a bit of something up your sleeve as well.”

”What are you on about?”

It was almost scary how easily Castiel was accustomed to the change in the mood. It was as if he had been waiting for a quarrel to happen sooner or later.

”You talked some nonsense about crayons at the aquarium. What was that?”

Castiel squinted again, this time at the roof. Then, he turned his gaze to Dean. The intensity of it was piercing.

”I said I wanted to use to whole box. The cryptic message behind my RuPaul quote was 'I wish I could see color'. Was that so hard to comprehend?”

Dean had no idea who RuPaul was, but this wasn't the moment to be asking about that. Instead, he tried hard to remember what he had been thinking about in the first place. Had he really been so obliviously enchanted by Castiel that he'd thought he was a Failed, too? That was the longest stretch he'd ever done in his life, by a damn landslide. It almost made him angry at himself.

”No, it wasn't.”

Dean turned his back towards Castiel and pulled the blanket up to his jaw. A minute of heated anger filled the room.

”Dean... I'm sorry.”

A sigh Dean didn't know he was holding escaped his lips. He turned around and found a Castiel burrito staring at him intensively.

”Me, too,” he whispered. ”It's just been a long... A long day and a long trip.”

”Want to tell me about it?”

He did. Dean wanted to tell and he told about how they'd started their journey, on how Charlie had found a soulmate in Gilda, and how all the people he'd met had been _quite_ but not _just_. Castiel listened to him in silence and had no commentary after he was done – he was genuinely listening instead of trying to come up with a solution that wouldn't help in the long run. After that, he started talking about aquatic life and Dean fell asleep listening to stories about the Mariana Trench.

And it was the sweetest sleep he’d ever had.


	10. Cassie

Dean sighed and looked out the car window. Here, in New Jersey, everyone had their lives together. People were smiling, they seemed happy, they had families, they had the whole package deal with their soulmates or not soulmates.

He couldn't help but think about Chuck's words the other night. He'd been so sure when he was talking about free will and how it affected many people's lives to be tied up in the whole soulmate belief and society. Everything in the world worked based on that: first you find your soulmate, then you live with them, then you're free to pursue your dreams – but it was of the utmost importance to  _ first _ find your soulmate. Dean had had it wrong from the start. He'd pursued his dreams first and got a career out of a fault that he had. Sure, that was something to be proud of... But as their journey was coming to an end, he had to start thinking about what reality he had for the future.

First of all, he would still have no soulmate. He'd have to go back to his life in Kansas without a soulmate. His sculpture would remain unfinished and he would get fired from whatever contract he had with the Museum of Art and his curator.

He would have to look at Charlie and Gilda every day from now on. Again, from his closest circle of friends and family, nobody would be without a soulmate. 

He didn't want to say the word unfair anymore. In some aspects, it was the word he'd used the most.

Yet, whenever he thought about last night with Castiel...

_ Unfair _ .

Too nice. Too easy to talk with. Too... Real. They’d woken up as side-by-side burritos and the first thing Dean had seen in the morning was Castiel’s smile.

And now they were here, in New Jersey, meeting the last of the five people. Her name was Cassie and she was head over heels excited to hear of Dean. It was all there; she could see dim colors, she had no soulmate yet, she only had longing and anticipation. She'd sounded sweet on the phone and they'd agreed to meet in New Jersey at her home.

In all honesty, Dean should have been happy about the outcome. He should be planning a wedding with Cassie already. He should call up his mother and tell her she was – and they were – wrong all these years and Dean was in fact not a Failed.

Should, should.

But all he could think about was how much Cassie, as a name, sounded like Castiel. It was like mockery shoved right up his face, a final reminder of something that would never be.

In all sense and wit, Dean did know he'd barely remember Castiel if Cassie truly was the one. And that’s what kept him going.

*

”How lovely to meet you,” Cassie said, and her expression did nothing to hint otherwise. She had a warm smile, a radiant heart that made her glow inside and out, and she looked like she'd been looking for Dean for all her life, as well. Dean gave a final glance towards his entourage waiting at the car outside and followed the woman indoors.

The house was stunning. It was as cosy as she felt, sleek with new furniture and glass surface – a nice opposite to the log cabin he'd spent time in with Castiel and Anna.

”I made some cake, I hope that's alright. It's called a tiger cake, it's vanilla-chocolate, absolutely my favorite,” Cassie said and guided Dean towards the kitchen. ”Do you want coffee with that?”

”Thanks, I'll take it black,” he answered absentmindedly. ”Mind if I look around a bit?”

”No, not at all!”

As Cassie turned her back and started to make coffee, Dean let his feet take him across the house. No detail had been overlooked on this one; there was art, there was curtains that matched the decorative cushions on the couch and there was a high-end home theatre and Dean could imagine them snuggling in for a movie every Friday night. Cassie started to hum and the house was filled with an atmosphere Dean would have died for. This was exactly everything he pictured he would want – and it was here, it was all ready for him, it was only a touch away.

”First come, first serve!” Cassie yelled and came to look for Dean immediately after. He wondered what she saw in his expression, because she read it for a good while before continuing.

”The coffee is done. So, what do you think of the house?”

”It's really nice,” Dean answered almost mechanically, ”I'm both impressed and overwhelmed.”

”Oh boy, me too,” she sighed, ”it's been such a long time. Come, let's talk.”

Cassie told about her past. She was also a person who was diagnosed a Failed at a young age. She didn't pursue a career in art, though – she'd always preferred interior decoration. It suit her well and if the house was anything to go by, she also was very good at it. She hadn't questioned her Failedness for many years, but recently, she had heard rumors of people who were misdiagnosed. Because she longed for someone that was meant just for her, she wanted to believe that was what she was going through. It was pretty much the same story that Dean had, but she wasn't aware of all the alternatives Failed people could be -- the ones Gilda told Dean about. Now, Dean told Cassie, and they ate cake.

As the day slowly turned into an evening, there was a shift in Cassie's mood. She flinched as Dean asked what was going on and didn't talk for a long while.

”Have you touched a lot of people?”

That was a direct approach, all of a sudden. Dean frowned. ”Not that many. I don't... I am not comfortable with touching people just to know if they're compatible with me or not.”

”Me neither, to be honest. I was just wondering if we should touch. To... To know if this is the real deal.”

There was something below the surface now, and Dean tried his best to fish it out. ”Are you sure everything's alright, though?”

”Yeah, yeah, I am.”

”Are you...” Dean tried to mouth the word, but decided to go with something else than  _ disappointed _ , ”are you not feeling this?”

Cassie looked guilty.

”To be honest, I thought I would be over the moon when I met you. At first, I was. As I started to get to know more about you, you seemed like a dream come true. However, the more we hang out... The more... The more...”

”You can be honest with me, I'm not going to get upset or insulted by whatever it is you're going to say.”

”I am  _ bored _ ,” she whispered and hid behind her palms, ”I'm sorry, but you really really bore me. I don't know what it even is... I'm thinking about dinner, I'm thinking about laundry and I'm thinking about a thousand things like grocery shopping and the customer I have coming over tomorrow and I shouldn't be thinking about any of those things, you know?  I should want to listen to what you have to say and I should want to be with you all the time until I know absolutely everything about you.”

_ Like I was with Cas. _

”You know what,” Dean sighed and gently placed his hands on Cassie's clothed wrists to urge her out of her hiding place. ”I know what you're talking about. I am not bored of you, but I know I will be. And I think you and me both, we deserve someone who doesn't bore us out.”

”Thank you,” she said, wiping a stray tear away with haste, ”for not getting mad. And I know you're right, we do deserve someone better. It's just... I'm desperate. I really need someone.”

Dean laughed dryly. ”Well, I got at least three people you could meet.”

Cassie hummed. ”I'm not into leftovers, sorry.”


	11. Castiel

As their car slowly edged forward in New York traffic, Dean realized he didn't really care. He didn't care about soulmates. He didn't even care about colors. What he cared about was to do what he felt was right; and right now, right was going back. And he wanted to ask Castiel out on a date. He wanted to spend more time in sea life activities if that was something that made Castiel happy. If, for some reason, it wouldn't even work out between the two of them, he'd just get back into his normal life.

Because now, he was finally free to choose. It was a regular, rainy, grey Wednesday in New York City and Dean Winchester was free to choose.

Dean called Anna for Castiel's address, and he could actually hear it in her voice. It was the same thing that had been in her expression last night – like she was enjoying a private joke. Dean let himself dream for a second; dream that the joke was that Castiel had been talking about him and she'd been watching from the sidelines. He didn't ask about it, though, since it was obvious she wasn't going to share it.

Castiel lived in an apartment on Staten Island, just outside the worst traffic on Seaview Avenue. Dean felt his palms sweating as he walked up some stairs to the second floor and as he arrived to the right door, he had to press the doorbell immediately to not panic and run. Castiel opened the door, covered in flour, and Dean felt the fireflies in his stomach turn into wild damn unicorns right there and then.

”Hi,” Castiel said and smiled in a way that revealed about all his teeth and it was the most adorable thing, ”I was just finishing an angel food cake. Want to come in?”

Dean nodded and followed him in. The apartment was a mess of research papers, flour, blueberries, coffee mugs, and various types of houseplants and it was  _ lovely _ .

”What brings you here? I didn't know you've stalked me enough to know where I live,” Castiel said, whipping some raspberries on the whipped cream on top of his cake. Dean took a seat across the bar table he was working on and leaned his chin on his palms.

”I asked your sister. I wanted to... to clear out a few things.”

He could already hear his resolve fade. This was the moment – or it'd pass forever. ”Could I stay for a couple of days?”

”What?” Castiel's expression already agreed, but he was curious anyway.

”I... Uh,” Dean said, shaking his head, ”I know this is coming out of nowhere, but I'm really...”

Castiel placed his finished product on the countertop and circled around the table in slow, but determined steps.

”Really, uh.”

_ Talk, idiot. It's not that hard. _

”Really wanting to know whether there could be something...”

He didn't need to talk. Castiel had reached him and slowly, so so slowly, reached up towards his hands. Before taking them, he glanced up to Dean’s eyes -- a silent ask for permission. Dean nodded dumbly and lifted his hands to touch. The world burst into colors, bright and brighter, sparkling, beautiful, and so real -

Dean had no doubt he'd get hooked in this stuff even if Castiel wasn't his soulmate. But it didn't matter, as gravity was now pulling them closer to each other.

”Your sentence is unfinished,” Castiel hummed, ”would you first like to kiss me?”

Dean's brain short-circuited, both because he no longer had any idea of what he had been talking about and because, well, for other obvious reasons. He gently freed his hands from Castiel's grip so he could move them to his waist, and as new colors kept on appearing on his line of sight, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Castiel's.

And it turned out you didn't even have to have your eyes open to see colors. Dean could feel tears forming in his eyes because of the sheer fear of this not being what he so desperately needed it to be, and as Castiel let out a sound that almost sounded pleading, he knew he wasn't the only one in this situation. On the corners of Dean's mind, he noticed he was being awkwardly stiff – his mind was wandering and his body was frozen, and he needed to force himself to relax into it. As he did, Castiel immediately took it as an invitation to guide and made him back up to the couch without breaking the kiss.

After what seemed like a second but must have been close to an hour, Castiel lifted himself up from where he had been sitting on Dean's lap. The loss of touch felt like parts were ripped off Dean and pushed through a shredder, and the way Castiel had to prop himself against the wall to regain his composure suggested he felt the same way.

”Forty-eight hours,” Dean huffed, ”Should we try to test it?”

Castiel groaned, and smiled. ”Whatever floats your boat.”

*

They ate cake, and talked about soulmates, about Kansas, about fishes, about research, and about some stupid TV shows they'd both been watching. Dean confessed he had no idea who RuPaul was and Castiel promised to fill him in but made him promise he would see Dean's inevitably upcoming drabbles in drag. They laughed at stupid things on their cake-caused sugar high and Dean realized he didn't even care if the sculpture would be finished or not. He wanted to make new ones – ones that had mermaids, coral reefs, angels, constellations and quaint log cabin fireplaces. He might even want to paint them on canvas. He could do that in Africa, if that was what Castiel wanted to do in his life.

They didn't touch for two hours, after which they didn't even care about the society built around soulmates.

*

Bright lights were everywhere. The place was all bright lights and not much else. All the corridors and hallways looked exactly the same and Castiel hadn't wanted to come here in the first place. Dad had said it was an important thing, and Castiel had known it to be true. It's not everyday you get new siblings.

But he had been so  _ bored _ . There's not much in a hospital to do when you're four years old and so he had been over the moon when a girl around the same age as him had arrived. She was waiting to get a routine checkup, but there had been a mistake in scheduling and she had to wait for two hours.

They played hide and seek.

After the first couple of rounds, Castiel had hidden too well. He had run through a lot of examination rooms and corridors and finally ended up in a large room with lots of small beds. Most of them were empty, and he'd waited between them for the footsteps to appear. When he finally had heard the girl running in the hallway, he'd noticed the other door that also lead into this room and backed up a couple of steps.

It was then he bumped softly into a crib. Immediately, he heard a low whine emanate from within. He turned to see who he'd angered and seen a baby, who was way smaller than he'd ever seen before – only a ball of blanket and a face. He smiled at them nonetheless.

”I'm so sorry, baby,” Castiel whispered, and booped the baby's nose with his small, bare finger. ”You go back to sleep and grow up so I can play hide and seek with you, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://peregrinefalconcas.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] The Whole Box of Crayons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984661) by [Nonexistenz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonexistenz/pseuds/Nonexistenz)




End file.
